12938/Starlight, Star Bright, First Pastry I See Tonight

Starlight, Star Bright, First Pastry I See Tonight
Date of Scene:	01 October 2022
Location:	Cafe Lalo
Synopsis:	Friends catch up over Shi'ar tech, pastries, and fantastic New York real estate.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis

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Jane Foster has posed:
Cafe Lalo achieves the balance of European ambiance and comfort for the well-heeled residents of the Upper West Side. Though many could afford fresh pastries sent over by plane or invisible Diana jet, it's much fresher and cheaper to rely on the rotating array of desserts. Jane lives around the corner, and she has Lalo's baking schedule down to a fine art. A moment when she's neither absorbed by the demands of Hayden Planetarium, SHIELD, or [classified business] affords her the comfort of actually socializing.

It's a nice thought.

She settles into a table facing the windows, though the wall at her back is probably mindful from a life as a spy. Or something like a consultant to spies. The broad latte cup isn't much touched. Open windows further along admit the cool autumn air, a relief from summer humidity while she waits for her guest. Or she's the guest, fashionably early. Either applies!

Darcy Lewis has posed:
The location has a degree of convenience for Darcy as well, as she works (when she's not doing secret agent things), teaching part time a bit further up town. Not that she wouldn't take the subway to the outermost of boroughs for Jane if she had to!

And because it's finally Pumpkin Spice Latte season everywhere that isn't one of the most famous Cafes in New York... or more properly, Fall, Darcy has thankfully fallen back (get it?) to her default form of existence, bundled in her signature peacoat, scarves, and wool hat. She trudges into the cafe with a bag hanging on her arm, looks around a few moments before spotting Jane, which provokes an unusually excited wave before she hustles over to the table. "Hiiiii." She is not, generally what one would call a bright and extroverted personality, but the rules tend to be different around her former mentor and all around good buddy. She quickly pulls out a chair, hangs her bag, loosens (but doesn't remove) her coat, and plops down.

"It feels like it's been forever. Lemme just, where's the menu- ah oh wow, they've got all kinds of stuff." She browses a little, but quickly gets lost in the wide variety of choices, before turning attention back. "How've you been? Busy, right? Everything's crazy all the time these days. Aliens, again. And I can even say it out loud, at this point."

Jane Foster has posed:
Convenience certainly counts. Triskelion to the north, city to the south, Manhattan smack-dab in the middle. They can be safely ensconced away in a sedate, even genteel part of town and not make the mistake of attempting Jersey. Say what she will, Jane doesn't really miss Staten Island. The house, yes; the island...

Cafe Lalo actually serves up something familiar in the form of pastries, cakes, and nearly every type of coffee known to man. The scent welcomes Darcy in as much as Jane animatedly waving does, she can at least hope. Her gaze takes in the fellow astrophysicist: coat, bag -- a lingering look -- door, back to them. "You made it! I hope you weren't delayed by construction. They want to repave every road before winter, and apparently none of us get anywhere unless we can fly." Which, of course, they can't without commandeering a Quinjet. The benefits of Quinjets are mighty, but landing for shopping trips, not approved by the US government. "It's been forever. Remind me why we don't do this more often? Sneak away and eat our way through the best menu around, once we get past the annuals." Her wink is bright, and she leans back into the chair. Absolutely no difference in her figure if she's been eating her way through the collective weight of the French pastry canon around here, but then the woman in her slubbed sweater and bootcut jeans really doesn't exude 'fashion plate.' Not exactly.

"Everything seems to be crazy, but I'm the same. Busy, trying to figure out more about the aliens. I heard about some of them, too. Have you been up to the Spaceport? I'm dying to get a glance." Invitation!

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"With any luck, they'll be done sometime before the end of the decade. And we don't do it more often because you're a world-famous mega bigshot who, when she's not writing books or headlining conferences, is frequently carried off into the ether for adventure, sometimes in the arms of burly super-men." With utter deadpan delivery, this is the classic Darcy firing on all cylinders. She grins at the end. There is no jealousy, only plain truth! "Also they keep me pretty busy, between time in the labs, playing with whatever doodads they've scavenged up from all the nonsense, or monitoring what I am pretty certain is a cloaked battleship in high orbit, or..."

She makes a circular gesture. The trials of Darcy!

"Sometimes I have to babysit our borrowed alien." Eventually, she manages to weave an order in amidst her multitude of complaints. All can be made better with luxurious pastries and caffeine. "I have been out, yeah. First on a couple make-nice visits since we don't exactly have jurisdiction. But since they're giving us access and hangar space, there's been plenty to do on the technical side. And that's not even beginning to scratch the surface of, you know, getting to meet and greet with some of the strange and wonderful new visitors. It's a real trip. Also literally, because, you know." Out in the middle of the ocean.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Then we should make a priority to see it before its completion and say we were there when a sprocket fell off or Superman offered everyone coffee. You know he would, too, as the absolute soul of hospitality. One of the few who measure up to their reputations." Jane brushes her fingers along the belly of the wide-mouthed latte cup, avoiding the foam in the calculated consideration for how to lift the thing. Darcy on all cylinders requires fortification, which experience and a lot of caffeine will inevitably accomplish. She lifts her drink, eyebrows raised at the marked interest of a cloaked battleship. "Shi'ar? Possibly big green men who inexplicably speak Afrikaans or Esperanto? I'm not putting down a wager, but the Esperanto trade junket does have a certain charm." Her cheeks dimple in the brief grin.

The bright look of interest carries on. "Are you referring to Mr. Erickson or /another/ alien I'm unfamiliar with? I can name a couple, after all. Excellent to make headway. The resident rainbow aliens," Asgard, by any other descriptor, "have put their efforts into establishing a diplomatic beachhead for more obtuse methods of travel where Earth is the destination. I have seen some crazy places and brought you back a few small things. Only one had opportunities to shop, but nothing like a stylish extraterrestrial scarf for the winter. Especially given it's pretty much impervious to the worst storms imaginable." Jotunheim, Niflheim-resistant goat-fur, away!

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Never met the guy but... yeah, probably." Even if she doesn't know him, Supes' reptutation certainly does carry.

There's a pause as steaming cup topped with foamy milk makes its appearance, and with it the next round of pastries. She's ordered a variety, seemingly at random. Do they have too many now? No such thing. "Shi'ar, yeah. On both counts." Ship and Michael, that is. "Well, pretty sure at least, as far as the ship goes. Obviously its a bit of guesswork, because it's not like I've really cracked it to see the ship, exactly. But there's still residuals from the engines and I'm getting pretty familiar with their power sources. So it's a fair bet." And despite the looming threat, she's pretty blase about the whole thing. "But not really a surprise or anything to fuss about, I figure? Since they're here for whatever talks to officially recognize blah blah whereby they won't randomly bomb us from space. Who knows. My boss's boss got bird-insides splattered all over his outsides at the last meeting. Glad I begged out of attending that one."

In the face of cosmic espionage and warmongering? She drinks more coffee. And then...

"Ooh! Presents!" This is the true answer to any existential angst about the fate of humanity as it faces the alien threats, bizarre mysteries, and uncaring infinities of a vast, unknowable universe. "That sounds amazing and very warm. I love it already." She really does appreciate a good bit of fashionable neckwear. "I dunno how many storms from other dimensions I'll have to deal with, but if it's immune to gross icy slush slurry water splashed on you by asshole cabbies, I'll love you forever."

Jane Foster has posed:
Supes' reputation definitely extends past SHIELD into the general consensus of a good guy. And he is! Just look at that helpful gesture, the friendly smile, and the defense against all that imperils the world. "One day, maybe." Coffee with Superman, the best fundraiser. Jane needs to make a mental note to pair it to the Met Gala. Virtues and Vices?

The pastry round earns an appreciative glance, then a bright grin. "You never do it by half-measures. If you were still on my budget, I'd up your weekly rate." She teases Darcy a little, tapping her fingers. "You took a look at the ship, did you? Fascinating work all in all. I had a chance to peer over the schematics, as I'm still trying to factor the streamlined armour and material build to hold up to the speeds it reaches. You really are making excellent headway, something bound to pay dividends. Well done!" She breaks into another smile, encouraging and not an ounce of jealousy for Darcy or her sunny, wisecracking energy. "No surprise we need more data on materials or energy sources that can function considerably faster than any commercial craft we have, might as well see what he's willing to share. I like him, that one. Complicated man, but genuinely seems to care about more than appearances. Bit of a far cry from the rest of his kind, based on how he doesn't mince words about them. I realize it's a one-sided story for the most part." Must declare the limitations of scientific knowledge, as hard-coded into her as lightning is to Thor. Sort of.

"Winter in New York necessitates pulling out the big guns. I don't care how much Balmain or that Canada Goose company charge, they are more about fashion than resisting the bitterest cold bite of winter. You are going to have it in style."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Never know when we're going to get space-blasted, so sense skimping on the truly important things in life! 'Sides, these all look really good." Darcy picks one off the plate, takes a nibbling bite at one end. "Ooh. Some kind of berry filling..." The nibbles grow larger by the moment.

"I've looked at basically everything we've salvaged, from the smaller gadgets all the way up. Mike even helped me with some of his own weapons, back when that whole thing started. And... yes! Yeah, exactly. I'd say it's really the materials science that's the missing piece. You just can't DO the kind of things that these people obviously HAVE to be capable of doing, to accomplish the kind of things we know they CAN do... without changing some base assumptions." She scrunches her nose. "Not that I need to tell you. But yeah. Only way to make sense when things don't work within the constraint of known physical constants is, you know, to invent some new physical constants. Dunno how much you've looked at any of the stuff, but some of it's got real funky properties, just down to the very base materials, the guts of this stuff."

The berry-thing is fully consumed. She reaches for a napkin to dab one dark purple corner of her mouth. "Mmm, well... honestly Mike's useless, at this point. Not that he wasn't helpful to start! I mean, at least after I established some basic rules..." Uh, that must have been an interesting sequence of events. "But what I mean, and he'd tell you as much himself, is that he's a soldier - spy? whatever - not a scientist. And sure, the basic education equivalent for a society that advanced does blow past us in some areas, but he doesn't know how to fabricate this stuff, doesn't know the underlying fundamentals. Or maybe he does, but its classified and his bird-honor prevents it?" A shrug. "Doubt it though. Like you said, he seems pretty... OK, when it comes down to it."

Then, with a broad grin, "Maybe we oughta try reverse-engineering these scarves. Gotta get another one for that, though, cause I'm not donating mine!" She is already clearly enamored of it, even ahead of time!

Jane Foster has posed:
Berry filling? The delights of French cuisine must not be overlooked, though Jane pokes at her latte. Its robust flavour and milky froth satisfy the need for something other than sweet, at the moment, but tastes change as readily as need for salt or fat. Darcy eats, and therefore is nourished, happy, and delighted. Most is right with the world.

"Technology falls flat on its face when we lack materials or mechanical knowledge. Engineering is quantitative, and building anything from scratch takes so much longer than adapting a template until we can branch out on our own," she agrees. Enthusiasm for Mike's work is a shared thing, followed by a stifled laugh. "I have. Some of it actively repels anyone not keyed to the system. Imagine, they have actual materials you can genetically lock. Security measures like that could have interesting consequences in the future, particularly for defensive regimes. I can also see the problems." Shapeshifters, they are a thing. "Not looking in as much as I would like, since the trouble with my department is how eclectic we tend to be. At least R&D deals with mainstream issues, probable projects and details that you can project out. I don't have a KPI to connect to a black hole." Lofting fingertips, she sketches a figurative shrug without hesitation. "Reverse engineering what the Shi'ar have made isn't impossible, either, despite drawbacks you've mentioned. He excels in the military uses, but some of it can be run through computational systems or just turned over to Ms. Johnson or Mr. Fitz to fiddle with. You know he'll have the things deconstructed in a week, and turned into dispensing coffee and haggis in a month?" A poke of fun brightens up in a widened grin. "You're fine, your scarf is quite safe, by the way. I don't intend my presents to end up as sacrificial lambs on the altar of curiosity unless their recipients want that. The scarf might be offended."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Conversely," compared to the absolutely wild idea of genetically-locked materials, "There was one I could plug right into normal AC power." She makes a face worthy of the pure insanity of that outcome. "Well, obviously I had to jurry rig the actual connection, but it didn't need any kind of converter or anything. Wild."

Ultimately, there is only so much Darcy can do in the face of such madness, and she seems resigned to it. "I'm actually less hands on with most of it at this point, since we had that 'ooh ahh' honeymoon period to start with, but by now, it's definitely ground down to the usual slog. And materials absolutely aren't my thing. I was hoping, with the treaty, maybe I'd be able to just, you know, corner one of their engineers at the Starport food court and see if I could get any quick tips. But their last assigned engineer turned out to be a fanatical assassin, so...." She holds up her hands. Why, universe, why?

And then, abruptly, she turns from things alien (and scarf). "Anway, forget all that out of this world nonsense. How's everyting ELSE? You know, life, and all it's hazardous side-effects." She pauses, then observes. "We gotta make this a thing, so we're not just, DUMPING this stuff, dumptruck style, every blue moon."

Jane Foster has posed:
"You can't tell me that and not throw the schematics over to me!" Jane protests with a laugh. The coffee is nearly done and she sets it to the side, going after a lonely slice of creme patissiere-shot pastry that sits beneath a delicate, layered crust. She breaks the corner with a fork, popping it into her mouth.

"An assassin?" Try not to choke on the pastry, Jane. Oh, that's not easy with Darcy's talent for catching her off-guard. "You regularly manage to draw the most interesting crowds. Let's talk more about that later." Ah, the drift of changing topics absolutely is something she latches onto, reading the topography of the conversation. "Life has the deleterious side-effect of being interesting. I agree, and didn't we start off with the suggestion to meet? I can bring you back to the Dakota and show you my, what, thirteen unused rooms? Use that as a conversation starter. How I've ceased to live in Staten Island, middle of nowhere, and actually found a place in the city large enough to double as a school. And no -- it's not John and Yoko's place." Cutting that off at the pass, her tone brightens a bit. "You could meet the better half. Give your opinions on my serious adulting. The last couple weeks have been a bit breakneck with spontaneous pauses for work in the middle, barring a few oddities, though I'm planning a camping trip. Something with a cabin, upstate, in the trees. You know when they change, it's breathtaking. Nothing at all like the seasonal change in Seattle, and when I was in Boston, I never had time to see anything that wasn't in Boston."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"The schematics are all filed!" Darcy waves it off. "Most of that work I did, y'know, a year ago, when they were trying to blow up the moon or whatever." Even if she's tracking the ships in orbit, the underlying politics may all still be... rather obfuscated, to the people who aren't directly involved. And Darcy would prefer not to be directly involved!

"Mmhmm," she then mumbles in confirmation, although any other discussion of said assassin is delayed by the fact that she's got something in her mouth again. Omnom. "Oh. This is just... oh. So good. Mph, but uh, yeah, there's... a report somewhere about it? I didn't see it. But SWORD had a guy there doing talks."

She goes on to make a typical Darcy-face as Jane starts talking about her place. "There any cool celebrity neighbors left, any more? Or is it mostly just hedge fund weirdos? You should move up a block, hang out with Bono... Also? You should legally adopt me and put me up in, oh, say, I'd settle for three or four of the spare rooms. Not much to ask, I think." Then she makes an exaggerated kind of shudder. "Even I wouldn't live in Staten Island, though."

At this point, she hauls herself up, and since there is still a pastrie or two left, just wraps them up in napkins and stuffs them in her bag. SO FANCY. "If you're not doing anything I'd love to swing by, at least. Get a chance to see how the other half lives!" Also, in further less-glamorous semi-pouting, "And here I just go to up to Inwood when I wanna see the leaves..."